Children Are Like Kites

Kites

And you thought I was out of stories of my Mum that I've annually resurrected for Mother's Day. Here's one from my stash of fond remembrances.

It was graduation day. 

I was wistful. And I looked like I was in a dream, sporting one of those helmet-like hairdos that looked like it could withstand nuclear Armageddon unruffled.

Here we stand. This is our commencement.

I was to be awarded a Master's Degree in Comparative Literature.

On behalf of the UP Board of Trustees, I am proud to congratulate the Class of 1971. 

Yeah! 

I had the sense of something I'd never felt before. That this was in some way momentous. I was excited and invigorated but scared, too, as I hadn't a clue what to expect afterward.

It was only six years ago when I marched toward the same podium for my undergrad baccalaureate. 

Since that time, I had pursued a teaching career at my alma mater. 

In the midst of that, I started grad school, giving up an East-West grad scholarship at the University of Hawaii for a local Rockefeller scholarship. I recall working on my master's thesis while teaching at my alum school at the summer capital. It was arduous and challenging.

But that was then.

On the recommendation of the faculties concerned and by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Board of Trustees and the president of the University of the Philippines, I hereby confer upon each of you the degree earned, with all of its rights, honors, and responsibilities. 

Wohoo! 

There was a brief, uncertain pause, and then the room descended into happy chaos. It rang with exclamations of cheer and applause. 

I knew that I was done.

I recall seeking my parents' face among the well-meaning, indistinct faces of the audience. Dadee's smile was brief and understanding. He gave me the slightest nod, but it was enough. Mum's expression was unreadable. It looked like a conflicted look of joy and worry. 

Graduates, be bold, courageous, and be your best. Your journey is never-ending.

The regent's voice was still ringing in my ears as I hurried toward my parents at the end of the ceremony. I remember breathing a measured sigh of relief, looking at them and saying, Hay, nakatapos din. (I'm finally done.)

I will never forget the look that my Mum gave me. 

She let her gaze fall on my face. She drew in a deep breath and gave a slow nod.

It was full of pride but also one of sadness. She simply said, Simula ka pa lang. (You have only just begun.)

She then embraced me. It was like a child's farewell, dramatic and desperate. It seemed like she didn't want to let go.

At that moment, I was overcome with a slow, sinking sensation, a recognition of inevitability - aptly captured in this poem that has resonated with me through the years.

Children Are Like Kites - Erma Bombeck

You spend a lifetime trying to get them off the ground.

You run with them until you're both breathless.

They crash.

They hit the rooftop.

You patch and comfort, adjust and teach them.

Finally they are airborne...

They need more string and you keep letting it out.

But with each twist of the ball of twine,

there is a sadness that goes with joy.

The kite becomes more distant,

and you know it won't be long

before that beautiful creature will snap the lifeline that binds you two together

and will soar as it is meant to soar, free and alone.

Only then do you know that you did your job. 

I was like a kite that had been tethered for so long, but I needed to be cut loose.

All I needed was a bit of wind beneath my fledgling arms.

'Mie knew that.

P.S. A month after, I got married and moved out of the house. Almost two years later, I had a baby and emigrated to Amrika.